18 Months

My Girl is 18 months old.

And I find that with the approach of my Boy's 5th (FIFTH?!  How the heck did that happen?!) birthday, I feel a little nostalgic. 


Don't get me wrong, I love that she walks and dances and laughs and is hilarious in general.  It melts me like butter on a hot muffin that she cuddles me and pats my shoulder while saying, "Mama" over and over and over and over again.  Her temper is beyond exasperating, but given that I have that same temper myself, it helps me to be patient with her. 

And I'm not even sure that what I'm nostalgic for is HER as a little baby, so much as my Boy at 18 months old.

I was trying to explain this to Chris on Wednesday.  When we lived in GA and the Boy was 1-2 years old, he was my buddy, my constant companion, the center of my very small and lonely world.  We would pick up in an afternoon and go to Michaels or Target and just wander around and look at stuff and crack each other up.  We would cuddle and watch movies or read.  We were just always together, just the two of us, he and I.

And watching my Girl in her bath on Wednesday evening, I was reminded so forcefully of her brother at that same age, doing those same things that I felt this strange combination of longing for him at that time, and gratitude that I got to have all of those days with him.

This is a strange gig, Motherhood.  I'm wondering if I'll ever understand it, or if I'll just eventually give up trying and enjoy the ride.

(I took 47 pictures of her trying to capture the way she actually looks and of those 47 I got TWO where she was actually looking at me.  All of the rest she was wedging herself into that corner or blurry as she tried to run away.  Her loathing of the camera is STRONG.)

But her cuteness is stronger.